


carry me through

by ashley-amelie (kitana)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Harassment, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 17:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitana/pseuds/ashley-amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After waiting for days, Eren's excited to get some news about whether he'll be released from his holding cell. Only, it's not the news he was waiting on. [eventual Eremin][see notes for trigger warnings]</p>
            </blockquote>





	carry me through

**Author's Note:**

> so this first part is nearly 100% nastiness and unpleasantness. ._. there is:
> 
> \- mild sexual harassment  
> \- torture of the branding sort and  
> \- general violence
> 
> for my kink bingo square, 'ritual'

Low murmurs wake Eren from his slumber. _It’s probably the guard changing_ , he thinks, one eye cracked open blearily. He yawns and buries his head into his pillow. It’s soft, downy, and one of the few pleasant things in his life right now. Being stuck in what amounts to an underground prison -- even though the others won’t call it that -- for days on end isn’t what Eren signed up for when he enlisted. Still, he had been able to help humanity with his newfound Titan powers, and that’s exactly what he _had_ enlisted for. He has to concede that things could have turned out worse.

Briefly, Eren wonders how everyone is doing. He hasn’t seen Armin or Mikasa since they closed the Trost gate; he misses them. In fact, he honestly can’t remember the last time he spent this long away from either of them. He’s sure they are as worried about him as he is about them too, especially if they’re being kept out of the loop as much as he is. Commander Erwin and Corporal Levi hadn’t made an appearance since the first time either. It worries him, but Eren refuses to acknowledge it. 

Abruptly, the brunette’s half-asleep thoughts are interrupted by the clang of the bars of his cell. Eren rolls over and sits up then, rubbing sleep away from his eyes. It’s dark, darker than Eren remembers it being when he fell asleep. He squints in the low candlelight and he can see the forms of the Military Police guards just outside of his cell.

He can also see that the door to his cell is open.

Eren feels a tiny flutter of excitement in his stomach. He’s been pleading for days now for someone to tell him something, anything, _please_. It’s extinguished as quickly as it sprouted when the Military Police guards march over to his bed and hoist him up out of it by his arms, his legs dangling inches above the floor as he’s carried. Reflexively, Eren attempts to pull his arms away, but the guard holding up his left side grunts and shakes him roughly.

“Hey, ow! What are--”

“Shut up, monster,” someone says curtly, cutting Eren off mid-sentence. A third person comes into Eren’s view momentarily, before a burlap sack is thrown over his head, obscuring what little he could see. Eren makes a choked sound when the sack is fastened around his neck, pulled so tight as to press uncomfortably against his throat.

Panicking, Eren kicks when he feels cold, iron manacles clamp around his ankles. For that, he’s cuffed over the head hard enough to send him reeling. He sucks in a breath desperately, attempting to dispel the sudden, throbbing dizziness. _What the hell is going on?_

A sharp pain shoots through his knees when he’s unceremoniously dropped to the hard, cold stone. The clothes he’d been given to wear to wear in his cell are loose-fitting and thin and the chilliness of the stone beneath him seeps into his skin. Head swimming, Eren screws his eyes shut and tries to organize his thoughts. It’s hard to focus when he’s shivering and his body aches and he can barely breathe and —

Eren cries out as his arms are wrenched painfully behind him, heavy manacles enclosing around his wrists as well. The tip of a boot digs into Eren’s side painfully and he curls in on himself to lessen the impact, shuddering when his skin comes in contact with stone that hadn’t leeched body heat from him. “I said shut up!”

Angry tears well up in Eren’s eyes despite his wishes; he has to forcibly bite back his urge to shout something back. He’s only grateful that the sack that’s digging into his neck is also shielding his face. Eren grits his teeth against the pained grunt that wants to come out when a shoulder digs into his stomach as he’s picked up and thrown over someone’s shoulder.

The jostling makes his body ache even more and blood rushes to his head dizzyingly. His arms hurt from the unnatural position they’re twisted into, further weighed down by the heavy metal trapping his wrists. It’s muffled by the pounding in his head, but he realizes he can hear the men around him talking.

“Nice ass for a monster, huh?” Says one, the one Eren thinks is carrying him. He feels the vibration of the man’s body as he speaks.

“Yeah, how about that?” another says, and Eren jerks when a sharp slap lands across his cheeks. His face burns with humiliation and he bites his lip to keep himself quiet as he hears, feels, the men chuckle at his expense.

Suddenly, Eren’s skin prickles with gooseflesh as chilly nighttime air washes over him. The men’s voices are a murmur now. There’s a clink of what sounds like coin pieces and then Eren feels himself being pulled off of the shoulder he was thrown over. A fresh wave of pain blossoms in the back of his head and in his arms as he collides with a wooden surface, the force of it rendering him temporarily breathless. It smells of hay and horses, and Eren moves to sit up, to relieve some of the pressure on his arms.

“Don’t move,” a voice says.

Stilling, Eren hears the crack of reigns and, as his surroundings start to shake, he realizes he’s in a wagon. A bulky blanket lands on Eren, covering him from head to toe and pressing him into the floor of the wagon. He turns his head to the side so he isn’t suffocated by the blanket. The clip-clop of horses hooves ring loudly in Eren’s ears and each rock of the wagon exacerbates his aches. The fabric of the blanket is harsh and scratchy, pricking him through his clothes, but at the very least, Eren’s not cold anymore.

He isn’t sure how much time passes before the wagon finally comes to a stop, having been lulled into some sort of pained half-awareness by the motion of the wagon. Cold air rushes over Eren as the wooly blanket covering him is ripped away. He’s dragged out of the wagon and hoisted back over a shoulder.

Eren feels like a sack of potatoes; anger flares up in him again. He isn’t sure what he’ll be able to do blind and bound, but he struggles against the grip of the person holding him anyway. Eren twists this way and that, until a thumb sinks into the soft flesh at the back of one of his knees and his leg spasms, sending a sharp jolt of pain through him. Eren hisses out a curse.

A few moments later, Eren is deposited on a hard surface, his back pressed up against frigid stone. There is a shuffling noise, as if a number of people are bustling about, then silence. The burlap sack is loosened from around his head and pulled off; Eren’s throat feels sore where it was tied and he feels a twinge every time he swallows. The brunette blinks several times as the light of several bright candles floods his eyes.

Standing in front of Eren is a bald, elderly man, draped in black robes. He wears a gold chain about his shoulders; Eren squints at it until recognition dawns on him. The visages of Wall Maria, Rose, and Sina are carved into the metal, glinting in the candlelight. The priest’s grip is surprisingly strong as he takes Eren by the chin and pulls him forward, staring directly into his eyes.

The man’s eyes are beady, muddy brown and his fingers press Eren’s cheeks against his teeth unpleasantly. Eren searches the man’s gaze, but they betray no emotion. Eren winces when the priest shoves him back against the wall and turns away from him, dusting his hands off on his robes.

“A shame you’re but a child,” the priest says. “But it has no bearing on what must be done.”

Eren’s lips and tongue are dry as he croaks out, “What must be done?”

The priest gives him a sidelong glance, but says nothing, leaving the room in silence. The door locks with a tiny click. Eren fights down the fear swelling in his chest. Looking around, Eren can see that he’s sitting on a wooden table pressed flush to one wall. Turning his head hurts, but to his right is a wood heater, flame crackling healthily inside of it. To his left, a boarded up window, a single chair, and another table. There isn’t anything in the room Eren could use to his advantage.

Shit, Eren thinks. He has to come up with something to get out of here, wherever here is. Eyes scanning the room a second time, his mind flickers to Armin, wondering what the blonde would do. _Armin was always better at coming up with ideas on the fly_ , Eren thinks, lips curving in a small, bitter smile.

He contemplates standing and tries to scoot towards the edge of the wooden table. The manacles on his ankles are so tight that his feet feel numb, but he digs his toes into table for purchase anyway, his arms useless behind him. He manages to pull himself forward until his legs hang limply over the table’s edge. Eren freezes, heart thudding in his chest, when the door to the room swings wide, and the frame of the elderly priest fills the entrance, carrying a basin of water close to his chest.

Following the priest are four others, all dressed as he is, save that the lower halves of their faces are obscured by white handkerchiefs and their hands are gloved. Two of the four advance on Eren, grabbing him quickly by the arms as if afraid he is going to lunge at them, and maneuver him onto his stomach, pressing him roughly against the table and knocking the wind out of him. The hands on his arms and ankles are like steel, making his muscles cramp where their fingertips bore into his flesh. Black robes block the brunette’s vision to one side, and the other side is a wall.

He hears the rip of fabric as his pants, then his shirt, are torn away from his body. It took barely any pressure at all for the thin material to come apart at the seams. Eren bucks frantically against the hands on him, but it’s of no use; his body still hurts from earlier and the men combined are too heavy. There is the sound of clinking metal before Eren feels the bindings slide off of his wrist; the relief of being untied is all too brief.

His wrists are raw where the shackles rested and he winces when they’re grabbed and pinned to his side. Fear blossoms inside of Eren, tying tight knots in his stomach. Eren closes his eyes and tries to steady his breath, mind racing. He’s helpless right now, _again_ , and the realization makes him shake with rage, with confusion. He doesn’t know _why_ this is happening, who has him, or even where he is.

His eyes snap back open when a thick wad of cotton fabric is thrust up against his lips; he clamps his mouth shut against the intrusion defiantly. A hand tangles into Eren’s hair and yanks brutally, pulling his head backwards. The wad of cotton is stuffed into his mouth when he cries out and then his head is abruptly released to thump against the table. His headache is back with full force and fresh, hot tears cling to his eyelashes.

“We’re ready,” Eren hears one of the men above him say. He recognizes the next voice as the old priest from before.

“O Maria; O Rose; O Sina,” he says, a pregnant pause between each invocation. “Please bless our actions tonight, for we carry them out in your name.”

 _They’re that fucking cult._ Eren wracks his brain for their name. _Wallists._ He knew that they opposed putting cannons on the Wall, but what did he have to do with anything?

“Please bless our actions tonight, for we carry them out in your name,” the other priests repeat, chanting in unison. Over and over, they ask for the blessings of the Goddesses, voices rising and falling with each repetition.

The snap, crackle, and pop of the wood heater threads through their voices. Eren twists his neck as far as he can, trying to see over his shoulder. It’s blurry, but from the corner of his eye he can see a bright red glow. Eren can feel the heat of the glow as it comes closer and then, suddenly, white hot pain spreads through his left shoulder, ripping a dampened scream from his throat.

Above him, the priests are chanting, “Maria, Maria,” as they continue to hold him still.

The blistering metal is peeled away from his shoulder and Eren can’t help his sob. He can smell his own skin burning and his stomach is churning; he’s sure he’s dangerously close to throwing up. He fights back a wave of nausea as tears leak from his eyes. He only has a moment of recovery before another branding iron is pressed to his right shoulder, sending searing shockwaves down his entire right side.

“Rose, Rose,” the priests hum. The hands holding Eren down don’t let up, but there is a lull in the Wallists’ hymn.

Eren’s throat is raw from screaming and his body won’t stop shaking. His arms and legs feel numb, contrasting with the angry throbbing of his shoulders. There is a darkness creeping up in the edges of the brunette’s vision and he’s no longer entirely sure his eyes are even open. He sucks in a shaky breath around the damp cloth wedged between his lips.

There is another loud crackle from the wood burner and the priests’ hymn — Sina, Sina — rises in cadence once again. Scorching heat erupts across Eren’s lower back and he spasms, desperately trying to move his body away from the scalding branding iron but immobilized by his captors. His stomach lurches and he can’t stop the acrid bile from filling up his mouth and spilling over the sides of his gag.

The gag is ripped away from his lips and Eren manages to gulp down a single deep breath before his vision darkens completely.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, this will updated probably really slowly, sorry. I am not only a slow writer, but a distracted writer. ^^;


End file.
